Live Like You Were Dying Read Free Page A

I heard my grandmother call out from the brightest corners of my mind. Her mind-over-matter techniques had been freely dispensed throughout the years. Time and time again her wisdom reigned over any advice I’d ever gotten from a licensed doctor. Even so, my mind couldn’t talk my fingers out of lightly touching the thick bandages, the place of shelter for the white smudge that they claimed lived within me. I fought the image of the smudge setting up camp inside my lung. Shooing away the feeling of depression, I forced myself to follow my grandmother’s prescription.
    On my last night in the hospital, I stared out my window at the parking-lot lights, shining down like imitation stars. The real stars were what I longed to see. Self-pity swarmed around my room. Swatting back, I could almost hear Grand Vestal’s raspy voice reminding me that laughter is the best medicine for a troubled soul. So when the dinner tray was placed before me, I prepared the ingredients for my home remedy. remedy.
    An hour later, a nurse’s aid entered. “You didn’t eat your food,” she said and noted something on a card.
    â€œNo ma’am, I think I’ll just keep this apple juice. I might get thirsty later in the night.”
    The next morning I placed the unopened container of apple juice under the sheets. The nurse with the pink lipstick entered the room with her usual singsong welcome. “And how are we doing this morning? Did we have a restful night?” She asked the questions without so much as looking up from her clipboard.
    â€œAwful,” I replied.
    â€œWell, that’s nice. We need our rest. Now, you know the routine: it’s sample time,” she said, shaking the plastic cup in the air. “Do we need help getting to the bathroom this morning?”
    I never answered but instead shook my head, if only to make her look up from the clipboard. “Now, are you sure? We wouldn’t want a fall.”
    Nodding, I smiled, and she managed to smile too, albeit a forced one. “Well, if we start feeling lightheaded, just pull on the safety string in the bathroom. I’ll be right outside the door.”
    After she left I opened the container of apple juice and poured it into the sample container. The nurse came back into the room wearing plastic gloves and carrying a red marker. Before she could remove the container from the tray table, I touched the side of my head and moaned.
    â€œAre we having some pain? On a scale of one to ten, rate it.”
    â€œNo, I just . . . I think I got sort of woozy using the bathroom. Everything started spinning around, and my mouth got all dry.”
    The nurse clucked her tongue and leaned down closer. The pen attached to a string around her neck swung in circles.
    â€œWhere am I?” I asked in a half-voice, half-moan sort of way.
    She clapped her hands close to my face and then moved closer until the smell of her hairspray almost overpowered me. “We’re in the hospital. Now, do we know our name?” “Thirsty,” I moaned.
    â€œWhat? Speak up.”
    â€œThirsty,” I said again.
    Before she could move completely away from me, I snatched the sample container from the tray table and gulped it down right in front of her.
    By now she was literally having a running fit, jogging in place and waving her hands. “No, no!” she said in a high-pitched screech. “No, no . . . That’s our . . . that’s our sample.” Openmouthed, she looked around the room, as if a security camera might have captured her momentary lack of control, and then fled from the room faster than I ever thought she could move.
    Leaning against the pillows, I laughed an old-fashioned howl and ignored the pain. For the first time since being admitted to the hospital, I finally felt stronger than the fear of the unknown.

Chapter Three
    After seven days of what felt like hard time, I was released from the hospital. I’d never